The Scumifesto by Hatred O’Bigot

Today The Sun published its own manifesto now that we’ve only got 100 days of tedious bullshit to wade through before the next sexually deviant gimp is elected to help destroy the country. They imaginatively called it ‘The Sunifesto’. In it they espoused great humanitarian projects such as cutting benefits, advocation of fracking, greater powers for Mr. Plod to snoop around in your underwear drawer and, obviously, an urging to keep all them foreign types out, and those that are here better learn the facking language or Rupert Murdoch will personally jump on their balls.

It’s at this point regular readers are expecting the great thinkers who write this column to say something like, “The ‘Sunifesto’ – more like ‘The Cuntifesto’ if you ask me’, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Let’s take a gander at what the libertarian’s favourite paper has to say on the subject of welfare.

Child Benefit – capped at two children for new claimants. That’s obviously because the lower classes are at it like rabbits, the filthy fuckers, and the only reason anyone on welfare has more than two kids is so they can get a shitload of cash from the mighty overlords who run the welfare system. Yes, some people might be killing themselves as result of benefit cuts, but that’s because they just can’t believe how lucky they are to be governed by such altruistic millionaires and would rather top themselves than face any more fantastic greatness from the government. Killing yourself is just another way of showing the world how fantastic the Tories are. All hail Satan!

Foreign Aid – Scrap guarantee that 0.7% of our GDP be given away in foreign aid. That’s because they’d only spend it on coke and whores anyway. You know what them foreign types are like. They pretend to live in abject poverty and bandy about child mortality rates like it’s going out of fashion, but we all know every foreign country has masses of hidden gold in underground chambers, and all foreign types live in opulent splendour, and only reel out the diseased and dying when the cameras are about so they can fool us charitable countries into coughing up the moolah. The only reason the President of Guinea said there was an outbreak of Ebola in 2013 was so he could get enough money in foreign aid to knock up another gazebo in the presidential garden.

Security & Defence –Give spooks/police surveillance powers against terror – but approved by judges. At the moment the plod’s judicial right to have a rummage around in your e-mails and bins aren’t ruthlessly totalitarian enough. The current laws need to be changed, despite what the lefty kaftan wearing bean eating tree hugging whale saving daisy picking wind farming Guardian reading lefty communist Troskyist badger savers with their bleeding hearts and big weepy faces bleating on about so called ‘abuse of human rights’ say, like there’s something wrong with George Smiley rooting through your metaphorical underwear drawer to see if you voted for the Greens once and are thus a molotov lobbing terrorist pervert deviant. These suspects won’t throw themselves down stairs, you know, and it’s up to our glorious Stazi – er, Security Services to make sure we behave ourselves, walk in an orderly line, and never question those in big shiny suits who regularly make love to large piles of money.

NHS – cannot continue as bottomless money pit. That’s because only poor people use the NHS, and anyway, there are too many street urchins and council flat pond life knocking about in the country, and all the glorious soaraway Scum are saying is that maybe the population could do with thinning down a bit. Which is why they need as much private sector help as possible, because if the paups can’t pay for a nice room and a glass of gin every time they have a lymph removed they shouldn’t be sick in the first place. Next thing you know they’ll be wanting to be treated with a bit of dignity and respect as they’re popping their clogs.

Britishness – Migrants must learn English and respect British values. Like selfishness, greed, hatred of all outsiders and an enclosed myopic view of the world. The first thing a foreign type should do when coming over here is denounce his former homeland and then pledge allegiance to Thatcher’s corpse, which has recently been turned into a giant robotic monster set to rule over this mighty country with an iron fist of discipline. After that they should learn the Queen’s English – Home Counties dialect, not any of that northern rubbish – and then learn the fundamentals about what it means to be British, which basically means whinging about everything.

And so on and so forth. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on the glorious Sun when it comes to setting policy, but their advice to the future Overlord of this nation doesn’t go far enough. Yes, we must kill the poor and build a big wall of hatred and ignorance around the country to see off anyone from across the waters – even the Isle of Wight – but they’re forgetting gulags for the disabled, re-education camps for anyone who shows signs of compassion and understanding towards their fellow human being, and the purging of all those with radical thoughts – like them Greens – to giant metal cages where they must fight to the death in The Thunderdome.

In other election news Cavid Dameron has chipped in with news that the average person on the street should get a tax cut because it’s definitely the right thing to do and not a blatant attempt to get Mr and Mrs Joe Average to vote for them. Ed Milliband has come up with a ten year plan for the NHS, which mainly consists of binning the idea once they get in power, and Nick Clegg said something but no one was listening to he went home for a cry.

Note to UKIP twats – this column is a spoof and not to be taken on as a manifesto pledge. You bellends.


Let’s All Sit Around And Have a Mass Debate

It was Voltaire who once said, “Fuck my old boots, matey boy, any bastard politician who ducks out of a debate on live television is a right tinker’s bellend, and no fucking mistakin’, innit, me old china bollocks”, which was quite surprising since he died in 1778.

David Cameron is running scared. When the original idea of having another mass-de-wank on live television with his opposite numbers was first mooted he was reported to have said, “What a spiffing idea, Jim Messina, my head of strategy for the forthcoming election – now why don’t I slam my cockend in the fridge door until I pass out as, in the long run, that would prove to be as politically astute as me turning up on live television to reveal my true evil nature in front of the gimbling fools that believe themselves to be in opposition, despite most of them tickling the nuts of my policies in an agreeable fashion.” The last time Cameron floated his grinning shiny face in front of the cameras for a trouser jousting session he came across like a sweaty condom stuffed with sausage meat. The central thrust of the Tories political strategy is to keep his presence as far away from live television in case the public realise he is nothing more than a sock puppet worked by his chums in the banking sector.

Rather than run the risk of coming across like a massive gibbering frothing bag of badger’s nipples Cameron has chosen the yellow bellied scurvy son of a sea knob route by insisting that everyone from every party ever – even the ones which don’t exist – should also have an equal hand at mass debating live on television. It gives him a reasonable sounding excuse to run scared, leaving a big trail of brown smelly political right wing ideas behind him as he runs for the safety of his Chipping Norton pals.

The main fear of the Tory spin machine will be coming up against Nigel Farage. Having seen Farage on television debates, spewing forth his muddled invective and shamelessly sucking the cheesy bellends of Little England bigots in order to garner a few more votes, I can understand Cameron’s fear of facing him in a live debate involving the word ‘mass’, thus precipitating the comicular chortlesome nuttyfest sentence, “Let’s all get together and have a wanking contest”. Farage is a music hall mirror image of the worst Tory excesses. Whereas the Conservative apparatchiks have been carefully coached in the art of not venting the full quagmire of their near sighted bigotry, UKIP are firmly ensconced in the camp of promoting the next round of pogroms to anyone who doesn’t fit into their narrow definitions of Britishness. Farage’s approach to national debates is to shout over the other panellists until he hits a key phrase that garners him a round of applause, whilst Camertwats is to keep reiterating the same old points in that carefully manufactured fashion of his until the opponent grows bored or suicidal. All Little Eddie Weddie Millibandwandy has to do in those circumstances is stand back and let the two of them shout and bluster over which one can belt out the more ludicrous dogma, and he will have won the debate by default.

Cameron’s tacit denial that he’s using the Greens as an excuse to run like the skiddy-pants filled donkey fucker we all know him to be is just another example of his attitude, and of his party in general, towards the public in imagining they would be fooled by this. To counter this the parties have been offered the sop of the online debate, streamed live, where the BBC have no say over who can participate, and the last I heard they were all ‘considering their options’, which means ‘no’ because live streaming doesn’t involve a clearly confused and senile Dimbleby bumbling around looking for the toilet.

Do these live debates really mount up to anything but a massive cock measuring contest for a bunch of public school educated badger-fucking bastards hell bent on leading the country down into a big bucket of shit labelled ‘the private sector’. Except The Greens, obviously. They have a woman in charge of them. Anyway, the answer is they fucking well bastard bollocks shitbag donkey toss wanking fanny well might. The only reason I’m positing this hypothesis is because Nick Clegg and his marauding turncoats were a bunch of wibbling bunny rabbits before the last election, hopping around in their own fairy-tale world full of pixies and elves, and then Clegg shoved his big cheesy grin on television and remembered a few names and suddenly people were offering their first born up for sacrifice to the cunts. Obviously, once the over-privileged bucket of money laden cockends had taken their first bite of the power bacon all their previous promises had been flushed down the khazi to swim amidst the gutters where politicians leave their pride and commitment to a fairer world to rot once they realise how much money they can make. If Cameron sticks his squishy great face onto the screen and gets shat on then it might just make his chances of sucking on the power teat that much harder to sustain, much like he finds it difficult to sustain a stiffie if he’s not indirectly crapping over the poor and disabled.

As regards the relevancy of the live debates themselves, I think back to something my grandpappy would tell me when he was beating the mothballs out of the cat. He would sit me down, slip me a small tot of moonshine, and then hand me a big stinky bucket. “Jeremiah Tongeworthy Fannyflaps Nicklebollocks The Third” he would say to me, which was always confusing as that wasn’t my name, and he would point into the bucket. “See that big stinky pile of old donkey testicles I was going to feed to your grandma. See how they’re all rotten and festering and falling apart? See how I’ve stuck a big sign with ‘metaphor’ into that big bucket of donkey bollocks? See how they stand for society as a whole, and how the immutability of modern political discourse had taken physical form in the smelly old rotting wibbling scrotal sacks which bounce around in the bucket when I give it a shake? Someday a person will try to make you eat those scrotey old donkey balls, my son, and that person will be known as ‘a politician’.” And then he would laugh sardonically and rub shit in his hair.

What a cunt.

Send In the Bells: Election Year Is Here Again!

As if life wasn’t depressing enough the opening salvo for the monkey farm which will be the 2015 General Erection (see what I did there – SATIRE!) has just kicked into gear, and currently both the mainstream parties have slapped their opening gambits onto the table by making up a load of shit and then calling their opposition a big farty pants who smells of wee. The Tories have made up some stuff about The Labour, and The Labour have rejoindered by making up stuff about The Tories, and that’s how it’s going to be for the next FOUR FUCKING MONTHS until the next hung parliament.

To spice things up we now have the extra-bigoted likes of UKIP to throw their oar into the ring, but this will basically add up to Farage and his bunch of cellar dwelling homunculi who live by feasting on the flesh of the innocents chipping in with the usual tropes about ‘how the major league parties can’t be trusted’ and ‘we’re the only alternative to not being a massive cunt’ so, once more, no surprises there. The Greens will probably say something sensible, but since the media appears to have put a moratorium on the poor bastards getting a word in edgewise we can more or less ignore them. The Lib Dems will be flapping around on the outer edges of the political spectrum, but since they’ve shot themselves in the bollocks by sucking up to their insect overlords in the Tory party they’re pretty much dead as a political force in this country. On a realistic level the SNP have a better chance of swinging the hanging vote, considering how many people they’re likely to get into parliament now Westminster has rescinded on all their promises now the Union is once more stable.

The problem with political parties of all colours seems to be their pandering to what they perceive the mood of the public to be. The Tories are shitting their caks that UKIP are going to steal all their voters and so lurch hideously towards an even more right wing agenda, and so do Labour. Just lately the party of the worker has been trickling out ideas that a freeze on the public sector pay would be a spiffing idea, despite the fact that in reality this will do fuck all to aid the economy and just kowtow to the sort of cunts who write for the red tops who somehow think everyone who works for the council drives a Rolls Royce made out of pauper’s knackers. Farage must be wanking himself to death in ecstasy that his joke party have suddenly gained political credence now that Cameron is running along behind him and scooping up his policies. The Green party have actually become more popular due to Labour’s shift to the right but because the oxygen of publicity is being sucked up by the right wing of all colours their voice never seems to be heard.

Politics has always been a dog and pony show. The candidate with the spangliest spinny bow tie will always attract the most attention, and those with the simplest politics will be able to soundbite their bullshit for broadcast and print much easier. Social welfare, immigration, health, the armed forces, the police, housing, etc. cannot be summed up in a couple of words gibbered out by a cunt with a convincing frown, but that won’t matter a jot when it comes to election time and you know the stripy suited bastards who get reeled out before the nations verminous media will be trying to get their view point across in two simple ways – “It’s good” and “It’s bad.”

I have a problem with people who say politics is becoming more stupid, because it’s always been stupid. Politicians throughout the centuries have always taken the bread and circuses route to political discourse, and the sensible voices are drowned out by the cacophony of bleating shitbags all scrabbling for the top job of fucking the country over as much as possible whilst palming resources off to their great mates in the business world. These fuckers aren’t in the politics game for the good of humanity or to help the poor and needy or to create a society where everyone benefits. They’re in it for the money and power.

Anyone who wants to run for office should immediately be dissuaded, as anyone with the messianic zeal to be the top dog in the building full of yapping Chihuahuas that is Westminster is obviously a few bolts short of a full Bernies (top seventies gag there for the oldies amongst you). You have to be unstable to run for office, and even if you start out with solid principles you have to make so many compromises over the years to achieve your goals your original ideology becomes corrupted by the whispering influences around you. There are some good politicians around, but they usually work on the coalface. Equally there are an awful lot of fuckwitted spanking obsessed nipple clamped sexual deviants out there, and we call these people ‘The Right Wing’. Although, come to think of it, the left have plenty of perverse peccadillos in their closet as well, so basically they’re all as a bad as each other.

To state the wankingly obvious, the reason the amount of people voting has gone down is because there appears to be no fucker to vote for who doesn’t come across like a slimy soundbite in a suit who will tell you they can piss gold as long as you put a tick by their name come erection time (see, SATIRE again!) A lot of career politicians see the world through the back window of their chauffeured car, which is why they have no concept of how difficult life can be for people who have nothing to their name and no prospects, living in a society where basic amenities are either squeezed out or strip mined for the private sector, and thus feel no remorse when cutting welfare and disability which have conclusively proven to lead to death and suicide, despite what the spokescunts in Parliament say. It is no surprise that people don’t trust them.

Next Week: A return to knob jokes and amusing swearing, including an exclusive use of the word ‘tonge’ (Tonge: Noun – a bellend, dickhead or general twat – see ‘UKIP voter) which this writer hasn’t used since senior school.

The Bonkers Year Ahead by Wacky O’Nutty

What a bonkers madcap zany 2014 it’s been, and what better way to usher in the new year than with a madcap look at the nutty and humorous year ahead, just like wot all them other pundits do when they can’t think of a subject to write about for the year ahead, and instead make up a series of tiresome ‘humorous’ looks at the forthcoming year. Cor, we’re MAD here at Sortitaht Towers, we are!


After a night of hate filled blood drenched horror as UKIP supporters went on an insane rampage and destroyed all the shops and businesses owned by them foreign lot, Head Uberleutnant Von Dangleberry Nigel Farage, resplendent in his black shirt and peaked cap with a skull and crossbones on it, denies to the world’s media that UKIP is anything but racist. The Daily Mail, The Express, The Sun and The Star fully back him when he reveals plans to build special ‘work camps’ for women who breastfeed in public.


When the aliens from Planet Arsebiscuit reveal themselves to humanity Tony Blair steps forwards to be the first to welcome our new extraterrestrial overlords to humanity. Unfortunately for him and his gormless grinning face they are actually international peacekeepers and deem that the dictator supporting right wing zealot should be condemned to have his stupid face kicked in with a steel boot for eternity. Everyone in the world volunteers, especially when they reveal that Farage is up next for a kicking.


Riding high on the coat tails of Transformers: Berllends of Bollocks, the next toy line promotion is rushed into production, helmed – as always – by Michael Fucking Bay. Once the film has been completed at a cost of fifty squillion pounds it, and Bay, are thrown into the bubbling pits of fictional volcano ‘Mount Doom’. That’s about it, really. I could have saved myself 61 words by just writing ‘see above’ for the blurb under the headline, which isn’t even that funny, come to think of it. What a waste of your, and my, time. Sigh. Happy new year.


In a bid to boost ratings and for once make the majority of the smug, rehearsed fuckers who appear on the program pay for the lies they constantly shite out of their gibbering faces a bucket of shit is to be dumped on any politician or celebrity deemed to be talking out of their ringpieces with a special ‘arse meter’. Once the arse meter fills up with the blandishments of the guests a bucket of shit is dumped on their heads. All politicians ever and Katie Hopkins are said be avoiding saying anything. And Bono, the twat.

And Sting as well.


Let’s face it, that’ll never happen. They can kick into touch as many policies as they would like and the fucking Tories would still swan around, spouting the same old dribbling toss we hear them belch forth every time a camera is shoved into their faces. One of the most dispiriting things about the current political class is how rudimentary the government denials of fucking the poor over have become. All the endless cock they spout about how food banks are becoming more prevalent only because more people know about them and not because the policies they force upon the most needy have been used to denigrate both life at the bottom of the ladder and the safety nets put in place to ensure people don’t die because of whatever self-serving shit the ruling classes piss out so their chums in the city can earn a bit more fucking dosh the cunts don’t even need. Those at the top are quite happily unloading their bowels on the working person, and cunts like Farage are getting more popular, pushing their brand of bigoted racism to the ‘Love Thy neighbour’ piss ferrets who bleat about it being ‘only a protest vote’ when there are plenty of other parties out their who don’t push their isolationist policies dealing in retrogressive ideology onto the public. However, since none of that is in the least bit funny I would just like to say ‘farty poo poo smell bags knob cheese’. No, wait, that’s the Liberal Democrats new party slogan.


In an effort to counter criticism that the bendy gobbed twat is catering to the bellend classes by ‘reviewing our policy on immigration’ Ed Milliband is to start carrying around an M60, wearing a head band with ‘Death From Above’ written on it, and answering Cameron’s first statement of the year on PM’s Questions by leaping over the divide and kicking him square in the balls. He then joins a biker gang made up of Dennis Skinner and Ken Livingstone and they tool around Brighton during the next Tory Conference looking for a rumble. George Osborne is then fed to sharks.


In a surprising turnabout the latest Star Wars films fails dismally at the box office when it is revealed to be a four hour subtitled drama completely in Russian about potato farming in the Serbian Gulags. In a bid to save his failing career franchise saviour Abrams invents a big machine which shits money straight into the bank vaults of Disney executives, since this is the only reason Star Wars is ever revived. For saving the studio Abrams is then given leeway to make his dream project, an eight hour drama about a tractor that falls in love with a brick wall. In Flemish.

So there you have it, dear readers. In the year ahead we have to look forward to UKIP being a bunch of twats, Michael Bay films, the government living in denial about the effects of their policies and the opposition being a bunch of toothless reactionary ends of the bell. So no change there, then! Hah! Bet you didn’t see THAT one coming. That’s FUCKING SATIRE, THAT IS!! Just like that Charlie Brooker series ‘Black Mirror’, except less predictable.